


Oxygène

by starslupin



Series: Fractured Stars, Fractured Fates [Universe] [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Dating, F/F, Femslash Big Bang Monthly Challenge, Long-Distance Relationship, missing each other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-02
Updated: 2016-08-02
Packaged: 2018-07-28 09:56:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7635775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starslupin/pseuds/starslupin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Paris is theirs; the oxygen to keep their relationship alive.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. PARIS, 1997

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Femslash Big Bang's July challenge; _Seasons of Love_ , (fill from youaregonecas). Editing got me stuck for a few days, so this ended up being too late, but I figured I could post it regardless.

**I don’t know where I started falling in love with her. I don’t know if it was in that little café in Paris, where we first met or if it was in the days after. What I do know, was that I fell fast, so fast it seemed like, for just a moment, the world was just her and no one else**

**Just her, me and her smiling face in the photographs.**

. . .

 

_Paris, May '97_

The only sounds echoing through the room were the ticking of rain against the window and the sounds of her girlfriend typing away behind the typewriter. _Tap. Tap. Tap. Click._ Alison was barely awake: she drifted between slumbers and dreaming. Each time he closed her eyes, more time had passed, the figures of the clock have moved. First, it's eleven pm and then it's one am, later four. The only constant in between it Lauren, typing away. _Tap, tap, tap. Pause. Tap, tap, click._

It was almost like a lullaby, lulling her to sleep. Her own personal song played for no one but her. It was the only constant right now; her girlfriend, sitting at her desk by the window, looking out on the streets of Paris while she's writing. Lauren always has tea with her, sometimes coffee and other times wine. It was was one of her requirements to be able to write. Alison remembered when they'd talked about it one night when they were curled up on the couch in Brighton.

“ _I’m a walking cliché, aren’t I?”_ she’d said, _“Parisian, gay and a writer. I adore flowers and am in love with wine and beautiful women.”_ She'd ran her fingers along her arm. _"Especially this beautiful_ _girl."_

 _“Does that mean I’m your cliché artsy girlfriend with a questionable taste in clothing?”_ she'd asked with a smile on her lips. _"Are you telling me there's something wrong with my clothing style?"_ The laugh which followed had been so rich and warm she wished she could record it and listen to it _over and over and over_.

“ _Are you saying you’re not? Cliché that is?”_

“ _I wouldn’t dare_.”

It was so familiar to her now, spending time here and getting to look at her girlfriend while she's sleeping or working. She'd spend five weeks here, getting tours around the neighbourhood and meeting Lauren's parents. They'd kissed at the Eiffel tower, even though Lauren had pressed it wasn't _that_ amazing and then the morning after, Alison had gone out to get breakfast for the both of them. She'd gotten lost on the way back, but found her way back.

Alison was going home tomorrow. Back to her boring Brighton, to not spending time with her at all. Back to talking every few days, because both of them are too busy and they just couldn't find the time. Back to sending letters to each other because no matter how great the internet is, neither of them could afford huge data plans. Nor can they afford another trip like this soon.

“Come to bed,” she asked her quietly, around five am. It's almost a miracle how easily Lauren completely turned down the light and crawled into bed with her, allowed her to curl up against her. "Tu vas me manquer,” she sighed, trying the words. French still felt odd to her, the words didn't always quite work. Her lips and tongue refused to make the vowels sound right. Lauren always laughed when she did. Always laughed and said she was getting there, crawling closer to not sounding as Brittish. She could live with that.

“I’ll miss you too, Ali,” she promised quietly, her fingers running up and down her arm. “We’ll write. Send me more of those pictures. I love seeing your smile pop up when I least expect it.” What Lauren wasn’t saying, but she knew, is that she keeps one in her wallet, like a proud father does with his children. “I’ll try to figure out how to use mine.”

“I’ll show you,” she promised, hiding her face in her girlfriend’s shoulder, “tomorrow. Before I leave again.”

They fell asleep like that, tangled together while in the background, the sun started it's decent into the sky.

 

Lauren was the last one to wake up, around one pm. When she did, she found the other side of the bed empty and the room filled with the sounds of a guitar. Alison was singing along to whatever song she was listening to, quiet enough for the words to be indecipherable, for the strums to lull her back to sleep. She closed her eyes, pretended to still be asleep. She didn't want her to notice she was listening; she'd fall silent, she'd stop, she'd turn around and ask her how she'd slept, wish her a good morning. She didn't want that, she wanted to stay in _this moment_ , listen to her girlfriend and cling to it, hold it close to her chest. 

They couldn't. They couldn't live this forever; in under twenty-four hours, they'd be driving to the train station. Alison already had her bags by the door, most of them already packed. As they always do, Alison will leave a shirt on her pillow and Lauren -- as she'd already done -- will leave a shirt of hers in her suitcase. They always did that when they were leaving each other and sure, their closets were mixing quite a bit by now, but she loved wearing a shirt to bed that still smelled like her or which she could picture her in. It was a comfort, in a way.

Maybe, it was just a ghost of her girlfriend or a memory, but it as something, something to hold on to. Whenever she had a check-up at the hospital or her t-cells were low or her immune system was fucking her over again, she'd wear it and it wouldn't make her feel better no, but it helped. Helped calm her down when she was feeling sad or overwhelmed and while it was not the same as having her there, it helped. Helped greatly.


	2. PARIS, 1998

**What I do remember, very clearly at that, are the first days. The days she was still in Paris and her friends got lost so many times. I remember how often she ended up calling **me **because they were somewhere and had no clue how to get back to their hotel or because they were supposed to go somewhere using the metro, but had no clue on where to get on or off. We hung out a lot, the lot of us. While her friends were lovely to hang out with, it's not for whom I came.**

**I went there for _her_. To get a chance to see her again. She'd be leaving for England soon, I knew that, but I wasn't quite ready to let go. Oh no, not at all. I was falling so fast.**

 

. . .

_Paris, January 1998_

 

The letter arrived on Monday morning, right as Lauren was sprinting out the door to get to her publisher's office. She didn't think on it, not really, just shoved the thick, cream envelope in her bag and ran to catch her train. When she was younger, she'd promised herself so many times she wouldn't turn into a grown version of her mother; she would be on time when she had appointments, wouldn't forget important papers and more specifically, she wouldn't end up being a hot mess by the time she was twenty-five. Except, at twenty-three, it was exactly what she was.

Lauren examined the letter on the way there, from Alison's neat writing spelling out her name and address to the twice stamped stamps. One, as proof of processing in the UK and the other prove it had passed through French customs. Her day was going to be a long one and at best, she'd wish she hadn't lived through it at the end. First, a meet up with her publisher and then off to her doctor for her lab results before running and continuing to work. Continuing to clean up poetry and bundle it for Anaïs.

She only had time to look at the envelope before her station was announced and then she was running again, hurrying so she wouldn't be late. _She could read the letter later._

 

Alison had sprayed perfume on the envelope before sending it. As she opened the letter that night, curled up in bed, she couldn't help but feel for a moment, it was like having her there again. Last time she had visited, the apartment had smelled like her perfume for days and she'd cherished it. It gave her the illusion her girlfriend as still there when she woke up. Some days, it made the missing easier on her. It was why she'd been so sad when it faded, mourned the loss when it eventually disappeared.

She pulled out the letter first, leaving the pictures she'd put in the envelope for last. Lauren had always loved those most, loved seeing her girlfriend grin on the photo paper, adored seeing the things she mentioned in her letters. They were little reminders of how much her heart still skipped a beat when she saw her, of how beautiful she really was and most of all, how much she really missed her on a daily basis, how hard the longing could be to bear.

Her actual letter wasn't that long. A few paragraphs on the holidays, how they'd been for her, fun things they'd done, gifts she'd both given and received. She talked about books she'd read and how she'd found one of her books in a bookshop. How she'd picked it up especially for her, how proud she was to finally own a copy of her girlfriend's book. Lauren couldn't lie, it made her heart skip a beat, both with affection and excitement; her book was out there. It was being sold places far away from France and closer by. Belgium, she was sure of, but England she'd doubted.

It as always so different, reading the words in her own writing, rather than from a computer screen. It was so much easier to imagine her doing the things she did, they felt more real. In a way, they hurt more. She could read words like ' _I miss you'_ on screen and while they hurt, they never had the same impact as reading them in her letters. This time, it had been one passage in particular, talking about the holidays and family events. ‘ _This is the first Christmas we will not be together. I’ll miss you, baby, so much. I really wish we could be together – it’s so lonely without you here. My mother says you’re always welcome, should you want to. We can come pick you up. Maybe pay part of your journey.’_

They'd always found a way to spend Christmas together, even on the days when it seemed to be impossible. This year, it had actually been. Lauren was short on cash with all the times she'd been ill on top of her usual expenses, so she couldn't travel. Alison had already come over to Paris the year before, she couldn't make her do it again. They'd tried so hard to make it work, but it just wasn't meant to be _._ It had been fun, the Christmas parties and gatherings, but now that she knew who ought to be there, the seat next to her was painstakingly empty.

_I hope to see you soon. I love you. You can do it baby, I believe in you.’_

 

The pictures never disappointed. Lauren couldn't help but grin as she pulled out the first one and was met by Alison and her sister, playing outside in the snow. There was snow collecting in their hair and both of them were grinning, Macy with her arms wrapped around her big sister. For a moment, she was taken aback from how much she'd grown since she'd last seen her, how much older she now looked. _‘She loves catching snowflakes on her tongue and having them melt. We made snow angels on the ground once there was enough and drank hot coco once we were ready to go back inside. I loved every minute of it. Darling, you have no idea how good it is to see her this happy.'_

The second was a picture of herself huddled up on the couch, wrapped up in more blankets than Lauren had ever seen in one place. The light was barely bright enough to make out her features, but she could imagine them, immersed in the movie. Her mother must have taken it, or maybe her father, but whoever it was, she was thankful. ‘ _I miss you here,’_ she’d written on the back of the picture, _‘you’re always so warm. My perfect little heat source. Hugging Macy is nothing like hugging you.’_

The third picture confused her at first, until she could see her through the flames. She was blowing out the candles on her birthday cake, a grin on her lips. Then the next picture, also of that day. It was her entire family; her older sister with her baby girl, Macy, her mother and her father. Alison was standing near the edge of the picture, grinning that same grin she’d fallen in love with in the first place. _‘I wish you could be here with us’_ she’d written on the back and _god_ did she wish that she could be there.

The last picture was of her, wearing the sweater she’d send her for her birthday. It had arrived a few days late, she knew, but she seemed happy anyway. _‘It’s so soft baby. I’m in love with it.’_ Maybe it was just because she was so sleepy, but she looked so beautiful wearing it.

She flicked off her lights after putting the letter to the side and for the first time in a _long_ time, she fell asleep content and happy, without tossing and turning and fretting about the news she’d gotten about her lab results, without feeling the little bit of anxiety flicker stronger and stronger. For the first time that week, she dreamt.

 


	3. PARIS, 2001

 

 

_Paris, April ‘01_

In many prospects, it was a night like they'd had many others. Their suitcases were packed and standing by the door, waiting for them to leave for Brighton first thing in the morning. The air was already tinged with that little bit of nervousness that always accompanied them, no matter where they went. It was her soon to be mother-in-law's birthday in a couple of days and even though they'd told her they couldn't come, they'd decided to anyway. Lauren's chapter could wait. Alison had been granted a few days off of work anyway. Life was, for once, in their favour instead of in everyone else’s.

She was sitting at her desk, laptop closed, looking out the window. She’d tried to write more before leaving, but the words weren’t working with her; she was too distracted. Distracted by her girlfriend. Alison was there now, living with her. _Permanently_. She might leave so she could see her family, but she’d return.

It had been more than a hassle, arranging her visa and adding her to her address, arranging everything with her assurance company. It was over now, they got everything settled. _She was there._ Sometimes, it still took her by surprise that she wasn’t just leaving anymore.

Alison was in the kitchen, apron wrapped around her and the radio playing loudly. She was dancing along to the music, the wooden spoon still clutched in her hands, swinging her hips to the rhythm of the song. Lauren couldn’t help but laugh at the sight, couldn’t help but return her grin when their eyes met.

“You’re in a good mood,” she said, walking over to her. “What are you making?”

“Chili, for my mom.” She leaned into her when Lauren wrapped her arms around her waist and rested her head on her shoulder. “She’s been asking me about the receipt. Figured I’d make it for her again.” It was moments like _these_ that made Lauren wonder what she’d done to ever deserve having a woman as smart and beautiful in her life. Wondered why she had the right to call her her fiancée now. How the universe ever thought to deal her such perfect cards.

 _Three years_. It had been how long it had taken for their relationship to become realer, more solid in her mind; there was less missing each other and more caring, more waking up with their feet tangled. After three years of going back and forth, spending time with each other maybe three or four periods with each other each year. _Thirty-six months_ of writing letters and chatting and calling, of learning how they defined what they had and how they fit together.

Ali had taken the plunge and moved to France for her. Lauren felt just a little bit guilty for that, for making her girl say goodbye to her family and come all the way across the pond. If they’d had another choice, she would have considered moving to Brighton more seriously than she had. Even if she was doing really good right now, Lauren was still HIV+. She still had her check-ups at the hospital and medical files. If she moved to England, she could run into problems with the health care system. She’d have to look for a hospital and a doctor immediately, _just in case._ They’d mutually decided it was best for them to come here.

After that, the months after her moving, they there was the learning to live together. Of learning they didn’t have to live their lives so intensely, as they’d done in the weeks they’d spend together. There was no time limit, not anymore. The only time limit was the one posed by her T-cells and they were stable, doing _well_ even.

 “You’re dreaming again,” Ali said, turning around in her grasp. “What’s on your mind?”

“Just thinking,” she admitted, “about the past couple of years. Do you remember how we met?”

“How could I forget? You bought me a drink. That was very straightforward of you, by the way.”

“You accepted it.”

“How could I not?” she smirked. “Free drink and the person buying me said drink was _hot_ , how could I refuse. You were there with your friends from high school, right? Claire, Emma?” She absently stirred in the chili. “You were just that little drunk.”

“You only talked to me because Kev _made you_. Didn’t he push you? He didn’t, didn’t he?” She shook her head in reply. “It was adorable to watch. Pinkie promise. God, you should have seen your face when I started talking to you in French.”

“Hey, watch it. My bags are still by the door.” She punched her shoulder, mock hurt in her tone. “I can be back on a train back to England in no time. In fact, I can take _your_ stuff too now.”

“Oh you wouldn’t dare. You’d miss me too much.” Lauren was laughing and god, did it feel good. “You love me too much now.” Truth be told, it would be _her_ who would be doing most of the missing. Alison had managed to fit herself into her schedule so easily that some days, she was almost surprised that only so little time had passed since they started living together for real. She accompanied her to her check-ups and reminded her she still had to take her meds. Not having her around when she woke up was almost as bad as that one time she’d woken up to Alison’s kitten sitting in the middle of their bed for the very first time.

“Why did you come home with me that night?” she asked absentmindedly. “You didn’t have to.”

“I trusted you and… you looked so cute and dangerous at the same time. Up to this day, I still don’t know how you do that. But okay, don’t laugh but. In all honesty – Kev said I wouldn’t ever do it. So I did it to prove him wrong.” Ali ducked her head and turned off the heat. She slipped out from between her arms. “Didn’t I offend you the morning after?”

“Yes, on my tea. Quote; ‘you have never been to England, have you? Or had tea? Because _bloody_ hell what is this’ unquote.  You were very grumpy.” Her hair had been a mess and she’d barely been able to keep her eyes open after someone had called her awake. Lauren didn’t know if she loved the memory for how adorable it had been to see her throw her phone at the foot of the bed and crawl back underneath the blankets or because of the _scowl_ at her tea. “So you only came with me on a _dare_? I feel like I should be offended at that.”

“Best dare I ever took part of. Pinkie promise. Why are you asking?”

“I was just thinking about it. It was such a coincidence. We could have easily missed each other in that café and our lives would have been completely different.”

“Oh now you’re just being a sap. Come here.” Alison pulled her close, hand resting at the base of her neck. “I love you, you know. Just a little bit.”

“Oh, I know.” Lauren had always loved the feeling of Ali’s lips against her, the way she’d start playing with the little hairs at the base of her neck or the hem of her shirt. She loved resting her hands on Ali’s hips and having her close. “I love you too. Just a teeny tiny bit.”

_**• • •** _

 

**This thank you note and this entire book in a way, is like a love letter. A love letter to Alison, who kept me upright during the final weeks of writing it and through edits. Who has been my harshest beta reader and worst critic. Thank you for your criticism, for joining in with me, for bringing me coffee and food and giving me the pep talks I didn't deserve. For listening to my whining and putting up with the procrastinating and restless nights.  
**

**Thank you to Alison Coy, without whom this book would have never been finished. To the best girlfriend out there.**

_Thank you note from 'A Night in Paris', Alison Durant._  
April, 2000

 


End file.
